


History is Written By the Winner

by MiladyDragon



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, America is Part of Great Britain, British Empire, Dubious Consent, Imperialism, Multi, Mystery, Nikola Tesla - Freeform, No Revolutionary War, Phil Coulson & Pepper Potts Friendship, Secret Relationship, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Sir Phillip Coulson, Baronet, knows there's something wrong.  His oldest friend, Nicholas Fury, has hinted as such without breaking his vows to Queen and Empire. But the more Phil digs into the past, the more he knows that history is truly written by the winner...but the winner isn't who everyone thought it was.  </p>
<p>With the distraction of the Stark Ball approaching, and Tony Stark's revealing of his newest acquisition of a missing Nikola Tesla treatise, can Phil and his allies stop whoever is workng behind the scenes to change the course of the British Empire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've had in mind for years, but it finally came together once I discovered what was missing from the main plot. I'm hoping to post on this at least once a month, maybe more, depending on my self-imposed writing schedule. I am writing this as I go along, so the tags are subject to change.
> 
> I've completely rewritten the history of America in this, and has it been fun! Things will be explained as the story progresses, but all you really need to know at the moment is that there was no American Revolution, and that the British Empire rules over a huge part of the world.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The snow was coming down so hard that it was impossible to see the other side of the street.

Major Sir Phillip Coulson, Baronet, sighed as he drew the curtains closed on the virtual white-out that was blanketing the entirety of New York County…indeed, if the weather reports were correct, the blizzard extended all the way west to the Great Lakes and north into the Upper Counties. He was going to be stranded in the City for at least the next week; there was no way he was going to attempt to fly his beloved ornithopter, Lola, back to the family estate until the weather was good for travelling.

That left him staying at the in-town mansion.

The house had been closed up back in November, when the entire household had moved back to the Coulson estate up near Westchester for the Christmas season. They usually stayed out in the country until the heat of summer descended, but Phil had wanted to catch the Exhibition at the Americas Museum, and the snowstorm had managed to catch him completely by surprise. Even with the benefit of wireless reports, the snow that had descended on the region had been a shock to almost everyone.

And so, there he was, in an empty house that had barely had the basics within until he’d managed to shop before becoming yet another victim of the capricious weather. He would be comfortable for as long as the storm persisted, even if it meant he’d most likely be bored out of his mind before things cleared.

He turned slowly, the cold weather making his bad leg ache worse than usual. The heating system of the mansion had been turned up, but it took a while to heat the large house, plus sometimes it didn’t matter how warm he was; cold got to him no matter what.

Phil sighed. There was nothing for it. At least he had the telephony and the wireless, so he had contact with the outside world. He’d already gotten one phone call from his Chatelaine, Melinda May, who had pointedly not said ‘I told you so’ when, in fact, she’d tried to talk him out of going to the Exhibition for the very reason that the weather was unpredictable this time of year and that he was courting being stranded in the City if the snow got too bad.

She might be one of the single most inscrutable people Phil had ever met, but he knew under that calm exterior she was most likely grinning like a child who’d been showed a really great magic trick at being correct.

He’d managed to make it nearly to the kitchen when a God-awful pounding came from the front door.

Phil was so surprised by the noise that he almost turned on his bad leg, and only his ever-present sword cane saved him from a rather embarrassing fall. Rolling his eyes and cursing whoever was out in this storm in order to knock on his door, he stomped toward the foyer, ready to use all of the curse words he’d ever learned in fifteen years of Royal Army service.

The words died on his lips as he flung open the door and saw just who was standing on his front stoop. “Nick?”

“You gonna let me in, Coulson?” Nicholas Fury, Special Investigator for the Crown of the British Empire, looked disgruntled as he pushed his way past a surprised Phil and into the foyer, dropping his carpetbag onto the marble of the foyer.

“Sure,” Phil answered dryly, shutting the door but not before a gust of wind sent snowflakes spiralling into the house. “Come in. What the hell are you doing here?”

Fury’s single eye rolled; the opaque glass lens that had replaced the one he’d lost back when they’d been fighting together in the Emirates glittered in the overhead light. “I used the damned telephony to call out at the Manor to see if I could squat here during the storm, since all the fucking hotels and inns are full because no one seemed to be able to extrapolate from a goddamned weather report. And then I find out that you’re one of the idiots who didn’t think that a major snowstorm was gonna hit the area…honestly, Coulson, you were here for the Exhibition? I knew your hard-on for Steve Rogers was epic, but really?”

“And just what are you doing in the City, anyway?” Phil asked. He refused to let his old friend get to him over the whole Steve Rogers argument again, not when it wasn’t nearly as bad an obsession as Fury was making it out to be.

“I happened to be working,” Fury rebutted. “I had no choice but to be here.”

Phil shook his head, hiding the smile that threatened to curl his lips upward. “You need to get out of those wet clothes before you ruin the flooring.”

“Yeah, cause it doesn’t matter if I get pneumonia or anything like that.”

There was no way that Phil was going to admit that he was concerned by just that, because showing a modicum of caring toward one Nicholas Fury was asking to be mocked incessantly. Like Phil wasn’t already going to be dealing with just that over being trapped in the City simply because he’d wanted to visit the Exhibition.

“You know where your usual room is,” he said. “The water is hot so if you want a shower you can take one too.” Many of the mansion’s facilities were still attached to the City’s gas mains; the lights and the icebox and other appliances were run by the wireless electric current running the entire length and breadth of New York County.

The sound of Fury’s boots going up the stairs faded Phil as he headed into the large kitchen, with its mix of older and up-to-date appliances…including the coffee machine, which sat on the counter just waiting to be used. He was the only one who actually used it – and his occasional guests – and he flipped it on after filling the hopper with the pre-ground beans he’d picked up as part of his shopping earlier in the day. Fury would appreciate a cup after however it was that he arrived at the mansion, but he’d also make certain that the good whiskey was also available.

Phil hadn’t seen his old friend in months. The last time had been at the Triskelion, the governmental seat of power for the County of New York, and where Fury had an office that he really spent very little time in. He’d been involved with something he couldn’t discuss with Phil at the time, but had taken lunch with him at their club. Fury had been distracted, but Phil had long ago learned not to inquire too much into his friend’s business. Being a Special Investigator meant that Fury kept far more secrets than pretty much anyone else and that he just didn’t trust anyone with them.

By the time Fury had showered, changed, and had made his way to the kitchen, Phil had the leftover soup that he’d made that afternoon warmed up and the coffee made, the steaming carafe beside the new whiskey bottle he’d gotten out of the pantry.

Fury took a seat at the heavy, butcher-block table that took up residence in the centre of the kitchen with a heartfelt, “Thanks.” He poured more coffee into his mug than alcohol, and the only sounds in the kitchen were the clink of spoon against bowl and the sips from doctored drinks.

Phil was perfectly comfortable with the silence. There was something very different between silence when alone, and silence between two old companions who knew each other’s habits.

“I’m actually kinda glad you’re here,” he finally said, once the soup was gone and well into his third mug of coffee.

Phil raised an eyebrow. This sounded like the beginning of a serious conversation, and that only happened when they were either reminiscing about their time in the Royal Army or if Fury was going to ask him for a favour. And, somehow, he didn’t think they’d be rehashing old stories from when they’d both been whole men, and far too young to care about what they were getting themselves into.

Fury leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug in his large hands. “It’s been a hell of a few months, Phil, and I’m not exaggerating. Things are happening…” he sighed, and then took a sip of his drink. “There’s a lot I wanna tell you…to warn you about…”

This was serious, indeed. “I do know you can’t share your secrets, Nick. I’m perfectly fine with that. But, if it’s something that could potentially hurt my friends and family…”

“Yeah, that’s just it. It’s big. And I mean so big I’m not sure it won’t lead to another war.”

Phil barely suppressed the shiver that wanted to trickle down his spine. The last war had ended nearly eleven years ago, when the Empire had believed it had managed to root out the terrorists that had taken control of the Emirate States. They’d been wrong, but hadn’t known it until Lord Anthony Stark’s kidnapping three years ago. That had set the Empire once more against the terror group known as the Ten Rings, and there were still attacks going on today despite the Empire’s stance against terrorism.

The British Empire had been the near-constant target of those attacks. Phil didn’t think much of the Ten Rings’ chances in the long run; the Empire was simply too large to be completely disrupted. With Crown territories all over the globe, Great Britain was, in fact, the largest Empire on the planet.

Which did make it a target for all sorts of terrorists.

Phil had already fought one war…he really didn’t want to have to fight another; or worse, have a member of his family fight it.

Fury stared into his mug, and Phil could actually see the thoughts racing through his mind. He kept quiet, knowing that he was trying to decide just what he could tell and what he had to keep to himself. It was a sign of trust; trust that Phil wouldn’t give up anything that Fury would share with him. He couldn’t help but feel honoured by any sort of secret that was revealed to him.

They’d been friends for so long, it was second nature to trust each other. But Fury’s secrets weren’t all his anymore, and the last thing Phil wanted was for his friend to betray something he shouldn’t, just in order to warn him.

When Fury spoke once more, the change of subject had Phil surprised.

“How was the Exhibition?” was what he asked.

“It was…” Phil fumbled for words, which really wasn’t like him but he hadn’t expected the question at all. “Well, I think my father would have been equally proud and appalled. I’m not sure my grandfather would have felt the proud part.”

That brought out a bark of laughter from his friend. After all, he’d met both elder Coulsons. “Why’s that?”

“They actually quoted from Father’s biography of Steve Rogers for many of the exhibits, but at the same time…” he shrugged. “It’s like anything else that gets farther and farther from current memory: things are…well, romanticised, I think is a good word to describe it.” His father had been the one to teach him about Captain Steven Rogers – known by his more famous _nom_ _de_ _guere_ , Captain Britannia – and his exploits during the Germania War. And his grandfather had actually met the augmented soldier, having been one of the many Captain Rogers had rescued from one of HYDRA’s experimentation camps.

He’d really had no chance. Young Phillip had been inducted into the familial Steven Rogers Appreciation Society before his second birthday. Hell, his father had even named the family airship the _Steven Grant Rogers_ out of his undying respect for the man, even though Phil’s mother soon had the airship nicknamed the Bus within months of the original purchase.

“Grandfather would have thought the events as sanitised,” Phil went on. “He’d actually fought in the War, so he knew what it had been like. They completely glossed over the dirt, and blood, and death that war brings. They had some really nice ‘official’ photographs but nothing that really showed what they were leaving out. And don’t get me started about the Exhibition runners leaving HYDRA out of the exhibits completely.” That had shocked him more than anything, since HYDRA had committed some of the worst atrocities during the Germania War.

That made the smile Fury had been wearing fade out. “They didn’t include HYDRA at all?”

“No. It really was a disappointment. I spoke to the museum’s co-ordinator and complained about it. He didn’t really take me seriously until he found out who I was, and that I wasn’t happy with them taking several of Father’s quotes out of context. The man actually claimed that HYDRA wasn’t as important to history as the actual Third Reich…of course, I totally disagreed with him. You can’t pick and choose what parts of history you want to claim.”

“History is written by the winner,” Fury said, somewhat cryptically.

Phil didn’t quite know how to take that, because it was true; and yet, the winners were often the ones who painted things much worse than they actually were, not to disregard the bad bits because they didn’t think they were important enough.   He said as much, troubled by his friend’s mood.

“I didn’t say who the winners were, did I?” came the reply.

This was it; this puzzle that Fury was putting out onto the table, with coloured pieces and blank alike, waiting to be put together. Secrets he had, and secrets he wanted to tell, but because he was a twisted son of a bitch he was going to make Phil work for them.

Still, these were secrets that Fury should not have been alluding to anyway, so Phil should just be grateful and make the most of the opportunity. Plus, putting them as vaguely as possible gave Fury deniability if needed.

“Besides the re-writing of history,” Fury went on, “I suppose you enjoyed yourself?”

First piece: the Exhibition.

“It was good to know that there’s still interest in Captain Rogers and his Howling Commandos. There were mostly families there, which made me even angrier about the changes made because, after all, our children are our future, and they have more use of lessons than most of us.”

“You’ve got all this time,” Fury quipped, “maybe you should write your own damned book.”

Phil shook his head. “I’m not the literary type. Besides, I doubt you would get me to sit still long enough to write the thing, let alone doing the actual research.” He knew Fury was just ribbing him about being wealthy, but Phil had always been willing to get his hands dirty when needed. He’d even done a bit of information gathering when his friend had asked, because no one suspected a Peer of the Realm to work for the Special Intelligence branch.

“If you did, it would give you a reason to…well, stick your aristocratic nose in where it didn’t belong.”

Second piece: Steve Rogers.

“And why would I want to do that?” Phil asked mildly.

The thing was, he already knew that answer: Fury wanted him to find out what his friend had. He could hint around and give him some clues, but the oaths the Special Investigators swore were binding…even beyond death, Fury was wont to joke. He’d once claimed that he’d sold his soul to Queen and Country, and Phil knew he was being completely serious. No one took duty more to heart than Nicholas Fury.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. Fury leaned forward, this time pouring himself a healthy amount of alcohol and leaving the cooling coffee alone. “Seems like someone’s a bit bothered by all the revisionist history he got rammed down his throat earlier today. Seems like someone might want to set that right.”

Third piece: the changes in accepted history.

Fourth piece (which he was reading into just what was wrong with the new history): the true role Adolf Hitler and Germania had played in that history.

No. Not Adolf Hitler…

He sat up in shock, his eyes meeting his oldest friend’s single one. “You have to be joking.”

Fury looked indescribably pleased. “I haven’t said a thing. It’s not my fault you’re the sharpest man I know.”

Phil collapsed back into his chair, helping himself to the whiskey. If what he was thinking was true – and there was no reason to doubt it, since Fury was apparently agreeing with his thoughts, even though the bastard didn’t have the talent for mind-reading…at least, Phil believed he didn’t, but this was Nicholas Fury he was considering across his kitchen table – then things could get very ugly, very quickly.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” Fury said, breaking into Phil’s thoughts, “I’m gonna head to bed. Looks like we might be stuck here for at least a couple of days. Think about what I suggested about the book, Phil. It might be worth your while.” With a loud scraping noise, he pushed his chair out and clambered tiredly to his feet. “See ya in the morning.”

With that, he was gone, the sound of his boots on the hardwood of the stairs fading out as Phil sat at the table, his mind spinning with everything Fury _hadn’t_ said…which was a great deal. Because, what he was coming up with seemed unreal.

Because HYDRA had been completely destroyed as the Germania War had been ending. At least, that’s what the history books claimed, and they were, indeed, written by the winners.

But Phil had to wonder…just who were the winners now?

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! So much has been going on, including a hospital stay for yours truly, but everything seems to be quieting down for now. Thanks for your patience. 
> 
> As for Pepper's family in this...I just couldn't resist. *grins*

**_Three Months Later_ **

****

“Lady Stark is here to see you.”

Phil looked up from the screen of his personal Analytical Engine to regard his Chatelaine and friend. Melinda May was standing in the doorway of the office, her hands laced in front of her, looking her usual, inscrutable self. Her suit was Oriental in style, with a long red brocade jacket and flowing black trousers, flat shoes on her feet. She looked beautiful and deadly, which was her natural state of being.

He was a bit surprised at the announcement. “Didn’t I make an appointment to visit her tomorrow?”

“You did.” If Melinda was scandalised by this type of behaviour, she didn’t show it.

“Hmm.” He was actually glad of the distraction. Going over the business accounts was one of the things he absolutely hated to do, and he’d been at it long enough that the lines of figures were beginning to blur together. “Can you ask her to wait in the ground floor salon? Oh, and if you wouldn’t mind having some coffee brought in as well?”

Melinda bowed slightly and then withdrew. Phil felt his neck creak as he turned toward his business manager, Jasper Sitwell. “Looks like I get a break from the numbers,” he said, reaching for his ever-present cane, which had been leaning against the bookcase just behind the desk.

Jasper rolled his eyes. “Like you weren’t looking for an excuse.”

“I trust you to look after my businesses just as I trust Melinda to look after the estate,” he answered, clapping Jasper on the shoulder. He’d known Jasper almost as long as he had Melinda, and there weren’t two more loyal people in the whole of New York County. He was lucky to have them.

“Go on,” Jasper made a shooing motion with his hands. “We can take this up later. There are still the mines out in the Californias that need your attention.”

“We’ll meet up again after lunch,” Phil promised. “I doubt Lady Stark will stay that long.”

Phil stood; this was the time of year his leg felt the best, and he didn’t even have to lean much on his cane as he made his way out of the office, down the sweeping staircase and to the ground floor of his family manor.

Coulson Manor had belonged in his family ever since John Coulson had settled in the area back in the late 1700’s. They’d been an old Imperial family, their Baronet extending all the way back to Charles II. John Coulson and his family had been fairly wealthy to begin with, but coming to what would one day be known as the British Americas had made their fortune. Now, the Coulson family was on the roster of the richest families in the Empire, which meant that Phil could do whatever he wanted and not worry about having to work a real job.

Not that he was lazy. No, his ambitions lay elsewhere.

The warm wood of the floorboards gleamed as Phil made his way toward the salon. It had been a favourite room of his mother’s, with its large windows looking out onto the extensive gardens and with its pale fabrics and furniture. It had suited her perfectly, and Phil still saw company there.

He pondered just what had warranted this visit from Lady Virginia Stark, nee Potts…or as her friends called her, Pepper. Phil was certain she’d have been informed of his own appointment with her after lunch tomorrow, so he was a bit confused with her arrival at his door.   Not that he minded; Pepper was his oldest friend, almost his sister, and she was always welcome to stop by anytime. Phil was equally welcome at Stark House, but he’d made the appointment because Pepper was at times too busy to receive visitors. It had been a courtesy that he’d always performed anytime he’d wanted to see her, and she always appreciated the advanced warning.

So, for her to have popped in, unannounced, was a very pleasant surprise. Not only did Pepper have the Stark properties to look after, there were her own businesses as well, being the heiress to the Scrumptious and Potts fortunes. She’d been wealthy in her own right even before she’d married Lord Anthony Stark, and the mingling of those two great estates had made the couple one of the richest in the British Empire and had sent shockwaves through the Peerage.

Not that either of them cared. Tony, of course, loved causing scandal, while Pepper would simply roll her eyes and look at him fondly even as he was denying vehemently of doing anything.

There had been a short time where much of the Peerage had thought that he and Pepper would be married, but Pepper had had her eye on Tony Stark and Phil – while he loved her very much – didn’t love her in that way. She was his sister in every way but blood, so even if their families hadn’t agreed that they just weren’t compatible Phil would never have married her. It would have been just too strange for both of them.

The door to the first floor salon was open, and the maid, Beth, came bustling out just as Phil arrived; she curtseyed to him and Phil nodded in return. He entered, smiling the moment he saw Pepper sitting in one of the wing-back chairs by the fireplace, looking fresh and casual in her emerald green visiting dress, the darker green of her corset a contrast against the crisp white blouse she was wearing underneath. Her brilliant hair was piled up in fashionable ringlets on her head, on top of which was perched a ridiculously tiny hat the same colour as her skirt.

Pepper smiled as well, standing as Phil made his way toward her. He saw her pale eyes glance down at his bad leg, and then back up to his face, and he knew she was giving him the onceover to see if he was all right. He appreciated her silent perusal even as he kept the instinctive eye rolling under control. He was perfectly fine, but his friends did still care enough to make certain.

“You’re looking wonderful,” Pepper said, hugging him.

“As are you.” Phil returned the hug, and then motioned her back to her chair, taking the one opposite. He reached across to the table where the maid had set the carafe and cups, lifting the warm silver decanter and giving her a questioning glance. “May I?”

Pepper laughed. “Always the gentleman, Phil.”

“Mother did try to teach me good manners.” He poured their coffee, adding just enough cream and sugar to his guest’s and taking his black. He handed over the bone china cup, which Pepper took, the green, crocheted fingerless gloves she wore contrasting with the pale blue of the china.

“Although I believe that was after the time you dipped my pigtails in your father’s inkwell,” she teased, taking a sip and sighing. “Wonderful as always.”

“And what you never admitted to was that you’d lost a bet with me over the amount of eggs there were in that cardinal’s nest by the Stark barn,” he smirked, taking his own sip of the coffee. “And you know I’d be more than happy to have Jasper get you in touch with the man who gets me my coffee supplies.”

Pepper rolled her eyes fondly. “And have this in the house with an avowed coffee addict? I’d only be enabling Tony, and you know it.”

Phil couldn’t help but chuckle. When Lord Anthony had finally given up the heavier forms of alcohol, coffee had taken its place as his addiction of choice. Personally, he’d have been happy to supply his friend’s husband all the coffee he wanted if it meant he’d stay away from drink completely.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair and regarding Pepper closely, “to what do I own the honour of this visit? Because, I happen to know I’d scheduled an appointment to come by Stark House tomorrow after lunch.”

“You did, yes,” she admitted. “But I’ve had a meeting at Scrumptious Candies rescheduled for tomorrow, so I’m going to be in Town all day. I simply decided to come a day early. I hope I’m not intruding.”

That made sense. “Not at all,” he assured her, “in fact you saved me from the business accounts. I’m really rather grateful.”

That caused her to laugh. “Was Jasper too put out by my interruption?”

“Not too badly, but I have to report back after lunch to finish up.”

“Then I shan’t keep you too long.” Pepper set her cup down on the table, lacing her hands in her lap. “I actually have an ulterior motive in showing up today. The Stark annual ball is going to be in June this year, and I wanted to offer a personal invitation to you and your household.”

The Stark Ball always closed out the season in the country, and could be counted on to be the highlight of the social season. Phil himself usually went back to the mansion in Town at the beginning of July, celebrating both his and Skye’s birthdays back in the City once things were settled. “Jemma and Skye haven’t come out to society yet,” he mused. His wards were a little old not to be out yet, but there were rules that Phil sometimes didn’t follow. And, while Skye had been ready last year, Jemma was the oldest of the girls and hadn’t wanted to be presented yet. Skye had agreed to wait without any prompting from anyone; she loved Jemma and hadn’t wanted to do anything without her elder “sister”.

Pepper smiled. “I’d be honoured if they’d consent to it at the ball this year.”

Phil knew she was aware of Jemma’s thoughts on the whole being introduced to society thing, preferring to spend the time at her studies. He was immensely proud of both her and Skye, for their intelligence and needing to learn, and he encouraged them in whatever they wanted to study. In fact, Skye had taken over supervision of the Coulson family Analytical Engine, and it was running better and faster than ever before.

He knew it would be a coup for Pepper if the Coulson heiresses were introduced at the Stark Ball, but he also knew that Pepper wouldn’t be thinking in those terms. She loved the girls almost as much as Phil did, and would only want what they would.

Still, he couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “And you wouldn’t mind shopping for them as well, I reckon.”

“It _has_ been ages since I’ve shopped for a young lady,” Pepper admitted, flashing him a smirk. “I think the last time was when Miss Xavier-Lehnsherr came out, three years ago.”

Phil recalled that. Not having a mother to prepare her for such an event, Wanda Xavier-Lehnsherr had turned to Pepper for help in getting her ready for her introduction to society. Pepper had been honoured and pleased at the trust the young lady had shown in her…and her fathers had been almost pathetically grateful to leave it all to a woman’s touch.

“Let me speak to them,” he replied. “I know Skye would like to, but of course she’s the more social of the pair.”

“And Jemma isn’t,” Pepper allowed. Then a sneaky look crossed her pretty face. “I wonder if she’d agree to come if she knew young Master Fitz would be getting an invitation?”

Phil shook his head, smiling. “That is evil, Lady Stark.” He was well aware of how his ward felt about Leopold Fitz. The young man might not have been a member of one of the more prominent families in the county, but he still had a good pedigree and a generous heart, and honestly Phil would welcome him into the family if Jemma did choose him. Leo and Jemma also shared a love for science that was nearly all-consuming, which Phil thought was adorable even if he didn’t understand but one word in ten when they got going.

Now, it was Skye’s choice of probable beau that had Phil concerned. Lieutenant Grant Ward had a reputation beyond reproach, but there was something about the soldier that rubbed Phil the wrong way. He couldn’t put his finger on anything in particular, and he’d even asked Commander Maria Hill, Nick’s Second, to do a background check on him the first time he’d shown up at Coulson Manor in order to pay court on his youngest ward, but it had come back clean. While he wasn’t from a wealthy family – which, to be fair, wasn’t something that Phil took much into consideration when thinking about who was good enough for either Skye or Jemma – he was a highly respected officer in the cavalry and had the ear of his commander, Captain John Garrett.

Phil was well acquainted with Captain Garrett, having served with him in the Royal Army before Phil had been injured badly enough to be invalided out of the military. He was a good soldier, even if he was a bit of a blowhard and a braggart, and even Nick had appreciated Garrett’s abilities enough to have offered him a place within Fury’s own regiment after Phil had been sent home.

His friend didn’t answer his mocking accusation; she simply winked as she refreshed her coffee. “Should I expect you and the girls then?”

“You know you can…me, at least. I still need to speak to Jemma and Skye.” Although, with the added incentive of Leopold Fitz, Phil was certain Jemma would agree to attend.

“And if they do attend, then I know I should expect Mistress May as well.”

Phil didn’t even grace that with an answer. Melinda May might have been his Chatelaine, but she was also fiercely protective of Jemma and Skye, and often would act as chaperone to them. Melinda might not like where either young lady would drag her, but she took her responsibility very seriously.

It didn’t hurt that she knew several forms of Oriental combat, and could take down a man twice her size quite easily. The times that Phil had witnessed her prowess in battle he’d been quite impressed, and if he’d been attracted to the female gender he would most likely have been aroused by it as well. That was how they’d met; Melinda had come to his rescue, as he’d been surrounded by enemies with only his sword and three rounds left in his pistol. To this day Phil had no clue why she’d decided to help him out of the tight spot he’d found himself in, but he’d been grateful for it. And, when she’d shown up on his doorstep a month into his ‘retirement’ he’d not hesitated in offering her a place on his staff…and in his home.

That had begun quite the round of gossip. It had been extremely entertaining. Sometimes Phil would feel like stirring things up again, and Melinda, while appearing to be one of the most humourless people to anyone who’d met her, would happily join in. Looked like there might be yet more rumours in their future, especially if Melinda attending while on his arm.

“And maybe you can invite your young man,” Pepper added, as if reading his thoughts and not caring for them one bit.

It had been a long while since Phil had trained the blush out of himself, but her words made it a near thing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he denied, fully aware that she would call him on it.

“Phil,” Pepper chided gently. “How long have I known you?”

He met her gaze. “Long enough.” He learned a long time ago to never bring a lady’s age into a conversation, even when she was the one who mentioned it first.

“Exactly. And I’ve seen you go through relationships and I like to think I can tell when you’re in love with someone. Just because you haven’t brought anyone home with you doesn’t mean there isn’t a special person in your life.”

He knew he should just give up and tell her the truth, because Pepper was as tenacious as a hunting dog after a blood trail. “I couldn’t introduce him because his job is highly secret and I wouldn’t dare reveal his true identity. It could only get him hurt…or worse, killed. So I’d appreciate you just dropping the subject. Please.”

There was such a look of puzzlement in his friend’s eyes that Phil had to glance away, out of fear that he’d cave under her curiosity and tell her all about Clint Barton; he had been known to be such a soft touch when Pepper was doing the inquiring. He settled his gaze on the fireplace, absently noting that he’d need to get a sweep in, the hearth was a mess from the winter fires even though the Manor had its own heating system; the house was simply too large to heat properly no matter the strength of the generator Phil had purchased last.

After a few more moments of silence, Pepper cleared her throat, a decidedly un-ladylike sound, and then said, “I should warn you…Tony’s waiting for the ball before making a grand announcement about his latest acquisition.”

Thankful for the change in topic, Phil raised an eyebrow. “What’s he purchased now?” Lord Anthony was almost like a magpie, only with science artefacts. There was no telling what he’d found this time, although to be fair the inventor usually discovered the most interesting items. In fact, there was an entire wing of Stark House dedicated to the objects Lord Anthony had managed to locate over the years since his kidnapping by the Ten Rings.

It was as if that very event had galvanised him in some way. The first thing he’d done was to shut down the Stark Weapons foundries in both Great Britain and the British Americas, repurposing them for other lines of production. It had come out later that Lord Anthony had discovered that the Ten Rings had been buying his weapons and using them against innocents, and that had led to the scandal that had erupted around Obadiah Stane, Lord Anthony’s godfather and titular head of the Stark financial empire before Lord Anthony had put Pepper in charge.

Lord Anthony had also dedicated himself to invention. Pepper had gratefully put him in charge of research and development for both Stark Industries and Potts Inventions, the company her great-grandfather had built from the ground up. It had been Caractacus Potts’ flying and floating car that had made the Potts fortune, and Phil knew he could directly trace his Lola back to that first, and still incredible, invention. The car, affectionately nick-named _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_ by Caractacus’ children, still ran and was in pride of place within Lord Anthony’s carriage house.

“Well,” Pepper answered, leaning slightly forward as if what she was about to say was in confidence, “what if I told you Tony found a lost cache of Tesla’s plans?”

He couldn’t help the surprise that made his mouth drop open. Nikola Tesla was one of the greatest scientists of his age, even if he had been on just this side of eccentric. Tesla had been the one who’d come up with the wireless electric network that powered most of the larger cities in the Empire, as well as several types of steam and electrical powered engines that were still in use today. He’d improved the telephony system and wireless communication…in fact, the world would have been a very different place if it hadn’t been for Nikola Tesla. Every school child knew about the so-called “mad scientist” who was responsible for so much of their current technology.

Phil was aware of Lord Anthony’s obsession with the inventor, having had to deal with it for over two decades now. “Just what did he find?” He couldn’t keep the question quiet; he was curious just what had been out there yet to discover, since as far as he’d learned in school decades ago Tesla’s papers had all been donated to the British Museum upon his death.

Pepper leaned a bit closer, and Phil could smell her perfume. “What if I said it was Tesla’s lost treatise, _The Art of Projecting Concentrated Non-Dispersive Energy Through the Natural Media?”_

It took him a few moments in order to search his memory but, when it came to him, Phil was speechless. To be honest, he really didn’t know much about that particular treatise beyond the rumours and the stories Lord Anthony would circulate about it; only that the weapon that had been written about in that particular paper would supposedly bring down aircraft and would drop an enemy army dead in its tracks. “Wait…is this the one about Tesla’s so-called death ray?”

Pepper was nodding as she leaned back in her chair. “It was in a box of papers found in the attic of the New Yorker Hotel, where Tesla died. No one knows how they were missed when everything was confiscated by the War Department, but you can bet that’s what they were looking for at the time. They didn’t find it, and all of Tesla’s papers and monographs were donated to the British Museum since he didn’t have any heirs.” She lifted her cup from the table and sipped, grimacing. “I hate cold coffee.”

“Has he had them authenticated yet?” Phil poured the rest of the coffee into her cup, far too interested in her story to save some for himself.

She nodded. “You’ve heard of Dr Bruce Banner?”

“Vaguely. I’m certain Jemma and Leo have mentioned him.” When he could understand their science babble, that was. When those two were in the same room together it was sometimes hard to understand what they were saying as they had the habit of talking over each other and finishing each other’s sentences.

“Doctor Banner is one of the foremost experts on Tesla,” she explained. “He’s made some pioneering discoveries based on Tesla’s research, and even thought that part of Howard Stark’s creation of Captain Britannia had some basis in using Tesla’s polyphase technology. Of course, Tony disagrees…but that’s just Tony. You know how he is about his father.”

Phil indeed knew exactly what Lord Anthony’s opinion of his father was, and it wasn’t a good one. Not that he particularly blamed the man for that opinion…it was pretty much fact, even if Lord Howard was considered a hero over the Captain Britannia discovery and was often painted as a philanthropist and a genius…if a bit of a cad. He simply hadn’t been a very good man when it came to parenting.

“Well, Dr Banner was the one who did the authentication. The treatise and the rest of the plans and diagrams came from Nikola Tesla.”

Phil could immediately see just what trouble owning such papers would bring. Any government would want to get their hands on them, if just to say that they had access to such a weapon even if, in the end, the actual thing didn’t work. He could easily imagine one of the Empire’s enemies believing that having that directed energy weapon would give them an advantage over the aerial might of the British Empire, as well as strategic benefit over ground forces as well. Anyone would want to have those plans for themselves.

His mind went to the research he’d been doing on the “book” Nick had suggested he write about Steven Rogers, and suppressed the shudder that wanted to run through him.

What if Adolf Hitler had gained that weapon?

What if the _Red_ _Skull_ had?

“Dear God in Heaven,” he whispered, “I do hope he’s keeping those documents under lock and key, as well as tighter security than what protect the Crown Jewels.” He didn’t even want to consider those plans falling into the wrong hands…and, if what he’d been working through was true, it could possibly be an enemy that no one would ever expect.

Pepper simply waved her hand at his concern. “He’s got them squirreled away in the vault in his workroom…you know, the one that Jarvis monitors constantly. No one is getting into that.”

Phil knew exactly what vault that was. He’d been impressed the first time he’d seen it; six inches of high-tensile steel all around, including the door which had the most complicated clockwork locking mechanism he’d ever seen. But the best security feature of all was that Jarvis, Lord Anthony’s Analytical Intelligence, was actually connected to the lock itself. No one could come in and try to fake the combination without getting past Jarvis and his recognition programmes. A person had to be someone Jarvis knew, and approved by Lord Anthony to have access to the workroom itself, let alone the vault. Phil himself could only get into the workroom proper, even though Jarvis had known him for years.

He felt moderately better that Lord Anthony was taking precautions, but he couldn’t help but still be worried that someone could still get to Tesla’s plans. He had to decide whether to risk making Pepper angry by contacting Fury, or to let things lie and not say anything.

Phil was paranoid enough to want to make sure no one got their hands on Tesla’s treatise and documents...

 

 

 


End file.
